











raLMxML! 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

i^ap injnjrigJfi Ifa 

Shelf .„•.££_ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



>^iy^rff\ 












VAaaAAAAiAaa/ 






> /iav^^ 



['iwrntiMti 



mkM^m^dm^d/iJA 






>j fcknf(finDr : & A a « AAA a < 



ffi* 



wm^^tMmr^' 



\^AaaaaaaAaaaWO a ^'" 

.»a»«aAAAAaaAA.. - ": : '*■'> 



m^tmi 






Saaatwwaa. 



MaAA.AAaA/' 



mmMmmE 



/ 







BOSTON: 
CUPFLES, UPHAM, & CO. 

©16 Cornrt Boofcfitot*, 
1883. 






Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by 

Cuppi.es, Upha.m, & Co. 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



UNIVERSITY PRESS : 
JOHN WTLSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 



2Co tfje J&nnorg 



HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, 



THE RECOLLECTION OF WHOSE FRIENDSHIP AGE CAN NEVER 
DIM, AS TIME CANNOT REPAY HIS KINDNESS, 



'fytfst %wza uxt UnsmMr, 



WITH THE CONSENT OF HIS FAMILY. 



&tf 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

An Idyl 9 

Cupid's Vision 15 

An Island Home 16 

Alfreda 19 

Genevieve 21 

A Birthday Ode 25 

Alcaeus 27 

Heloise 49 

Sleep . 51 

Pluto 52 

A Lament 54 

Rebecca 60 

Love of Home 68 

A Sultry Day in Spring 70 

Of a Squirrel 72 

Robert Burns 73 

An April Day 75 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

An Easter Hymn 76 

Wolstonecraft 79 

The Anvil and the Brook 100 

Nil Desperandum 103 

A Valentine 104 

Wedding Bells 106 

Trafalgar 107 




DREAMS. 



AN IDYL. 

Cloud-kissing mountains greet the eye, 

High cliffs embracing summer seas, 
Gray forests circling desert wastes 
With their broad belt of trees, — 

Wild coasts, where Nature's melodies 

Through crags and fluted caverns play, 
Deep inlets, where the fisher's boat 
Floats dreamily all day. 

A stillness rests upon the shore 

Like mist ; no sound, except where sea 
And air their monodies repeat, 
Low, melancholy, free. 



O AN IDYL. 

No house except the fisher's hut, 

No beacon, save one warning light, 
Stood sentry o'er the wilderness, 
To break its gloom of night j 

Till one bold yachtsman, sailing by, 

Descried the grandeur of the isle, — 
Who, like Columbus, kissed the soil, 
And lingered here a while. 

Another year he came again, 

To build a cottage on the shore ; 
And other summer wanderers brought, 
Its mysteries to explore. 

They rambled round the rock-bound shore, 
They followed out the woodman's road, 
They scrambled up the mountain sides, 
Returning with a load 



Of flowers, mosses, lichens, ferns • 

Through wild ravines they chased the deer ; 
The timid trout, in crystal pools, 
Their shadows learned to fear. 

The birds that made the woods resound 

With Nature's minstrelsy, ere long 
Took flight from their primeval home, 
Chanting a farewell song. 

Fair Nature's self sat here enthroned, 

Embowered like beauteous Eve in Eden ; 
But none had known her queenly seat, 
And not one favorite even 

Had wandered through her woodland courts, 

Had lisped of love in honeyed phrase, 
Had dared in knightly courtesy 
Her simple beauty praise. 



2 AN IDYL. 

But now the scene is blithely changed : 
The first who went, its glories told j 
And others came their prize to share, 
Its splendors to behold. 

The stately villa crowns the shore, 

The jostling village skirts the bay \ 
The glade that knew the eagle's cry 
Rings out with laughter gay. 

Where Nature only had been wooed, 
Alone supreme from morn to e'en, 
Few courtiers now surround her shrine ; 
Euphrosyne is queen. 

And sparkling Fun, life-giving Mirth, 
Chase heart-corroding Care away ; 
While Comus and his jovial crew 
Make merriment all day. 



AN IDYL. 13 

And when the shades of night steal down, 
Comes Song from out her hiding-place ; 
The slumbering Echoes then awake, 
That coves and grottos grace ; 

And Puck, the fairy, too appears, 

The sprightly reveller of the night ; 
While Bacchus with the brimming cup 
Bids every heart beat light. 

Yes, one is here with roguish eye 

And radiant face, — the merry elf 
Whose smile bewitches every one, 
Sweet Cupid's princely self. 

Oh, let the joyous sport roll on, 

The merry circling dance have sway, 
With Youth and Beauty hand in hand, 
While Love directs the way. 



14 AN IDYL. 

The unwary swain, caught in his wile, 
Has fond remembrance of the isle, 
Where seas and glens alike beguile, 
And Nature wears a smile. 

'T was here I saw fair Genevieve, 

Fair, laughing, bright-eyed Genevieve, 
Just when Night's Queen began to weave 
The silvery veil of eve. 

She seemed a spirit of the night, 

Just lighting from some starry height, 
Entrancing my bewildered sight, 
A vision of delight. 



CUPID'S VISION. 

'T were pleasure after pain, 
Her too cold heart to gain ; 
To revel in her charms, 
To shield her from all harms, 
And know that hope was sure. 
Her wondrous eyes allure, 
Look timidly in mine, 
And fascinate like wine. 



AN ISLAND HOME. 

There is an island off the coast of Maine, — 

A lovely isle, far distant from the path 
Fleet Commerce follows in her quest of 
gain; 

Cool are its breezes, and the fisher's hearth 
The only home wild Nature's will allows. 

The soil 's a desert, but the isle 's a gem 
That sparkles on the bosom of the sea, 

Allures the eye of pleasure-loving men, 
Oppressed by care and longing to be free 
To roam through forests canopied with 
boughs. 



AN ISLAND HOME. I 7 

Grand heights are here ; here, too, are plain- 
tive brooks 
And frowning cliffs; the cool, sequestered 
dell; 
Here sparkling mountain lakes and peaceful 
nooks, 
Where Fancy's fauns and wood-nymphs 
love to dwell; 
And Nature's form is picturesque as Eden. 
Ye mountains bold, who rear your cloud- 
wreathed heads 
In grandeur wild from out a boundless 
sea, 
Whose steep and rugged sides are water- 
sheds 
For foaming torrents, rushing full and 

free 
Down deep ravines to some far distant 
haven, — 



1 8 AN ISLAND HOME. 

When in your presence, how the soul expands 

In adoration of the Almighty Cause ! 
Thought soars aloft, and views far distant 
lands, — 
Revolving planets, governed by the laws 
Which hold in place an apple and the globe. 
From your bald peaks the village can be 
seen, 
Half hid 'neath golden vapors of the morn ; 
The smiling cottage, peering through the 
green; 
That peaceful home where happiness was 

born, 
And sweet contentment covers like a robe. 



ALFREDA. 

The churchyard is dreary and dark, 
The village is shrouded in sleep ; 

There lies, on her mother's lone grave, 
A maiden who came here to weep. 

" Forgive my entreaty, dear mother, 
As I, too, forgive you your shame ; 

But hear my poor heart throb in anguish, 
And tell me my father's dear name." 

The greensward returns her no answer ; 

The body has mouldered to dust ; 
The spirit, on airy wings wafted, 

Has fled to the realms of the just. 



20 ALFREDA. 

By faithless, wild lover deserted, 
She carried her burden of sadness, 

Till, chastened by want and remorse, 

Love's dream had dissolved into madness. 



GENEVIEVE. 

Just now I saw fair Genevieve, 

Fair, sparkling, blue-eyed Genevieve ; 
'T was just at sunset, when the day 
Was waning into eve. 

Along the garden path she came, 

Where softly sings the swift mill-race ; 
The banks re-echoed with her song ; 
She tripped with fawn-like grace. 

The words she sang, — the sacred hymn 

Which oft at Christmas-tide we hear. 
She scarce looked up, and only said, 
" I thought no one was near." 



GENEVIEVE. 

A bunch of wild-flowers in her hand, — 

Daisies I saw, and golden-rod ; 
It seemed to me no fairer queen 
The beauteous earth e'er trod. 

A radiant smile illumed her face, — 
A smile so like the blushing light 
The lingering sun paints o'er a cloud 
Just fading out of sight. 

Her light steps, like the morning rays 

Of sunlight dancing o'er the sea, 
Bespoke a nature warm and bright 
With jocund health and glee. 

Oh, could I hope one thought of me 

But lingered in her angel breast, 
The soul, in purgatory now, 

Would find at last sweet rest. 



GENEVIEVE. 23 

The rapture which would thrill my soul, 

O Genevieve ? dear Genevieve, 
Would some bright fairy in my dreams 
Sweet orange-blossoms weave. 

Alas ! too often in weird dreams 

Another picture haunts the night, — 
A wood, dead leaves, a spectral light, 
A bard bereft of sight. 

Is there no magic can dispel 

This constant, terrible unrest, 
Except the happy memories 

Of days that you have blest ? 

The weary hours drag slowly on, 

The lamp of life but dimly burns, 
The cheek is pallid, and the eye 
From revery seldom turns. 



24 GENEVIEVE. 

Away from thee, is life not life ; 

And every friend, not blind, can see 
The love, I try to conquer so, 
Is only conquering me. 



A BIRTHDAY ODE. 

Hail, City of the Mystic ! 

On this, thy natal day, 
Thy elder sisters greet thee, 

Thee wish prosperity. 
Around thy cradle meeting, 
We give thee joyous greeting, 
The circling dance together wing, 
A paean of rejoicing sing, 

And celebrate thy jubilee. 

Now gleams another gem 
Around the diadem 
That decks thy queenly mother's brow. 



26 A BIRTHDAY ODE. 

By princely line begot, 

In infancy forgot j 
In childhood once Britannia thought, 
And once in blushing maidenhood, 

To quench her lamp of life j 
Now, grown to beauteous womanhood, 
She walks among her sister States 

With proud step, matronly j 

While, conscious of her past, 
Expectant of futurity, 
That in her full maturity 

Her fame will blossom fast. 
Our Commonwealth her sisters crown 
The queen of learning and of song. 



ALCAEUS. 

i. 

Pale death came o'er him, as a spectral cloud 
At eventide floats o'er some mountain's 
height, — 
Its form enfolding in a fleecy shroud, 
That hides its simple grandeur from the 
sight ; 
Except the lingering sun, its head, still 
proud, 
With radiant glory crowns, — which seems 
more bright 
Because the ghostly mist conceals from view 
The grace and majesty in life we knew. 



28 ALCAEUS. 

II. 

Mysterious is death ; the rime of age 
Has ne'er revealed its secret to the light, 

Nor centuries divined its cipher-page, 
Explored its labyrinth of blackest night. 

And yet there is a voice which stills its rage, 
And puts all grave uncertainties to flight, — 

A voice which says this is not all of life, 

There is a world beyond, one free from strife. 

in. 

In the ebon night of time which now ensues, 
For lustrous cycles hence, if not for aye, 

The youth who virtue's peaceful path pursues, 
Who longs ambition's giant stride to try, 

And dreams that merit always meets its dues, 
That arrows further fly when aimed full high, 

A star will see like Hesperus of old, 

Which to the wondering magi Bethlehem told. 



ALCAEUS. 29 

IV. 
The poet's truest mourners are the young ; 
Gray-bearded men love power and dazzling 
wealth : 
Of hope and faithful love he long has sung, 
Which fill the day-dreams of romantic 
health. 
His harp to rhythmic airs is always strung, 

Which take the senses prisoner by stealth, 
And lead the glowing fancy by the hand, 
From daily toils to some bright fairy-land. 

v. 

Sweet minstrelsy allures the pensive breast ; 

As Orpheus long ago, in mythic times, 
The winds and raging tempests soothed to 
rest, 
The trees constrained to obey his lyric 
chimes. 



30 ALCAEUS. 

Unruly herds acknowledge his behest, 

Nomadic tribes revere his runic rhymes; 
He strung the pristine lyre, which even now 
Will make the stateliest heads in suppliance 
bow. 

VI. 

Imagination is the rarest boon 

A wise and generous Providence has 
given, — 
The midnight of life's ills, can make high 
noon, 
Its drudgery, assume the guise of heaven ; 
The martyr's wail become so sweet a tune, 
That all who hear it wish they could have 
striven ; 
Made Scotia's bard, while dragging at the 

plough, 
Elysian fields survey, scarce knowing how. 



ALCAEUS. 3 1 

VII. 
The hope that buoys the shipwrecked sailor 
lad, 
While raging madness rules the roaring 
wave, — 
And through the streaming rigging wails a 
sad, 
Wild requiem ; that gives him heart to brave 
Grim famine, till his wasting strength is glad 

To feed on flesh his loathing senses crave, — 
This hope is child of his imagination, 
An ignis fatuus of his creation. 

vm. 
The faith by which the nuns in cloisters gaze 
With rapturous eyes upon the Holy Grail, 
And saintly priests the host and chalice raise, 
As emblems of Christ's blood and body 
frail ; 



32 ALCAEUS. 

The faith which through the choral notes of 
praise 
On Passion Week can hear the Saviour 
hail 
The Father, hear his agonizing cry, 
" E16i, E16i, lama sabacthani ! " — 

EX. 

The hope of immortality, — the flower 

That bloomed in Eden ; the amaranth that 
grows 
Perennial in the mind ; the mysterious power 
Which calms the rebel heart of man, the 
throes 
Of nations, moistens like a springtide shower 
The seeds of worth, where'er life's river 
flows, — 
These hopes are born of our imagination, 
And christened by the blood of revelation. 



ALCAEUS. 33 

X. 

This is the brightest jewel of the mind, 

The starry cynosure of wondering eyes, 
The Kohinoor that miners seldom find ; 
'T is this which makes the bard of Chios 
rise, 
Like Himalaya, far above mankind ; 

It plumed the wing on which that seraph 
flies, 
Whom Thetis clasped within her watery arms, 
Before the world had heard his wondrous 
charms. 

XI. 

Both these and sympathy the poet joins ; 
His rhyme and rhythmic measures charm 
the ear; 
The pictures and the imagery he coins, 
The symphonies of life which he can hear, 
3 



34 ALCAEUS. 

The mysteries concealed in Nature's loins, 
The founts of feeling whence o'erflow the 
tear, — 
Whatever throb inspires responsive beat, 
By instinct he can see and can repeat. 

xn. 
But rhyme cannot, nor imagery alone, 

Complete the song the people love to sing. 
The mind perceives, the heart remains a 
stone ; 
The coin, well stamped, may not possess 
the ring, 
For which no excellence will e'er atone, — 
The something which the trembling tear 
will bring 
Unconsciously to sympathetic eyes, 
And lure the thoughts away to sunnier 
skies. 



ALCAEUS. 35 

xni. 
This is the poet's merit whom we mourn : 
He had true sympathy for every wrong, 
No tale of sadness was to him outworn ; 
His pity felt the toiler's biting thong, 
With Chloe wept, when from her mother 
torn, 
And sang in tender strains sweet freedom's 
song, — 
Not mixing with the hemlock drops of 

gall, 
But luring hearts to wish the tyrant's fall. 

xrv. 
The poet of the heart is dearer far 

To every kindly soul of all the race. 
He does not ride the grand Miltonic car, 
With gorgeous panoply bedecked, through 
space ; 



36 ALCAEUS. 

Nor drive the foaming, maddened steeds of 

war, 
Great Homer drove with such majestic 

grace; 
Nor ride the hurricane, control the storm, 
Nor walk hell's streets in proud Dantean form. 

xv. 
The fierce, tempestuous passions of the heart, 
Conceived of madness under midnight's 
dome, 
Which stir up strife and rend the world apart ; 

Which make the battle-field a hecatomb, 
The patriot, conquered, ride the headsman's 
cart, 
His patient wife and children homeless 
roam, — 
Make life a desert, hope a setting star, 
Even death itself mirage discerned afar ; 



ALCAEUS. 37 

XVI. 

The wrath which threw round heaven a blaz- 
ing zone 
Of fierce rebellion, scaled her jasper wall, 
Which made her vast campaign with horror 
groan 
Beneath the demon hosts' advance and 
fall, 
Whose thundering squadrons shook Jehovah's 
throne. 
But brought damnation terrible on all, — 
With such august, sublime, satanic rage 
The grandest poets filled their glowing page. 

XVII. 

Their deep, resounding chants through ages 
swell, 
Like organ tones through some cathedral 
vault ; 



38 ALCAEUS. 

Heroic minds heroic actions tell, 

And march with stately tread, without one 
halt, 
Through heaven's highways, along the streets 
of hell, — 
Conception grand, narration free from 
fault ; 
The soul dilates with wonder at their flight, 
As Andes sweeping southward fills the sight. 

XVIII. 

The poet of the people and the home 

Is he who hears the harmonies of life ; 
Who walks with us where'er we choose to roam, 
And talks with us when free from care and 
strife j 
Who loves green fields, where purling brook- 
lets foam, 
And knows the heart of maiden and of wife ; 



ALCAEUS. 39 

In hours of sadness is a welcome friend, 
Who peace and sweet philosophy can lend ; 

xrx. 
Who knew the vast thesaurus of the 
past, — 
But ne'er was known his knowledge to 
display, — 
What joys are fleeting and what pleasures 
last, 
What fears are transient and what hopes 
betray ; 
Could warn us when our shallop sailed too 
fast, 
And show where Scylla and Charybdis 
lay; 
Was ne'er too old to love a little child, 
Could always win its heart whene'er he 
smiled ; 



40 ALCAEUS. 

XX. 

Whose loving-kindness, purity, and grace 
Made each beholder virtue's self revere ; 

Who had a poem written in his face, 
A childlike heart, the wisdom of a seer, 

A soul so large he loved the human race ; 
Had faith in man when others spoke with 
fear; 

A home where genius, love, and sympathy 

Lived fruitful years in sweetest company ; 

XXI. 

Who always lent a kindly, helping hand 
To young Ambition, in his cheerless need ; 

Who knew the brightest minds of every land, 
Yet would, with tender grace, a beggar 
feed; 

Before the glass of time ran out its sand, 
With resignation could its lesson read ; 



ALCAEUS. 41 

Could meet death's angel at the opening door 
Without a pang, without a sigh for more. 

XXII. 

How winning is that simple modesty, 
Which does not court the curious, vulgar 
eye; 

Nor think the world's opinion heresy ; 
Nor strive to cut the upper, cirrus sky 

On wings designed for lyric poetry, — 
As if the lark the eagle's flight would try : 

How blest the man who knows what he can 
do, 

Will cheerfully his line of life pursue ! 



Sweet modesty ! fair lily of the mind, 

W T hich blooms within its garden, queen of 
flowers ; 



42 ALCAEUS. 

The grace that makes a woman loved, refined, 
Her presence sanctifies in saddest hours j 

The virtue that can never be unkind, 

That ne'er above more precious merit towers, 

But oft is asked to take a higher seat : 

The lowliest are the heaviest heads of wheat. 

xxrv. 
The mystery of literary fame, 

Explored in early life, to him revealed 
Its talisman, — the reason why the name 

Of sages by time's mist becomes concealed ; 
Why founts, whence crystal streams of learn- 
ing came, 
That watered broad savannas, are con- 
gealed : 
'T is not the lips that first, but they that best, 
Deep thoughts express, whose songs outlive 
the rest. 






ALCAEUS. 43 

XXV. 
Expression is the magic wand allures 
The mind, the attention wakens from the 
dead, 
A quick perusal for each book procures, 

Makes even superficial writers read, 
A constant audience for the wise secures. 

Rome's thrice- immortal Tullius has said : 
As Plato wrote, the king of gods would 

speak, 
If Jupiter had spoken ancient Greek. 

XXVI. 

Another truth the genii repeated, — 

That mysticism is not poetry ; 
Though by it careless eyes are often cheated, 

Attracted by its lurid fantasy. 
The vigorous mind revolts, when often treated 

With foggy thoughts and obscure heresy. 



44 ALCAEUS. 

The bards of old used short and simple 

phrase, — 
Upon their meaning most relied for praise. 

XXVII. 

Near by the classic shades historic, where 
Our Alma Mater rears her reverend head, — 

Where fortune-favored youth have breathed 
the air 
Of philosophic truth, on which they fed 

As children of the East on manna, — there 
Is hallowed ground, a city of the dead, 

Whose honored crypts are filled with precious 
dust 

Of wise and true and holy men, and just. 

xxvm. 
There is no spot of earth within the lands 
Fair Freedom calls her dearest heritage, — 



ALCAEUS. 45 

Except where England's august Abbey stands, 
And Pere la Chaise' proud, splendid her- 
mitage, — 

Contains more regal hearts and fruitful hands 
Than sleep in peace in this God's Acreage, 

Beside whose silent groves forever glide 

The leaden waters of a Stygian tide. 

XXIX. 

This mausoleum holds the precious dust 
Of two, in life and fame not far apart, 

Whose lifelong friendship was a sacred trust, 
Which never felt suspicion's poisoned dart. 

On both the world its crowning honors thrust, 
While truth and duty sanctified each heart. 

The people's favorite sons they both be- 
came ; 

In different fields each earned an honored 
name. 



46 ALCAEUS. 

xxx. 

One learned to wield the thunders of the 
state, — 
Became the tribune of an injured race, 
O'er whom had hung the sable cloud of 
fate, — 
And dared a haughty chivalry to face. 
When raging madness raised rebellious hate, 
And stalked across the land with Titan 
pace, — 
As Cato had, he gave a senate laws, 
But, Caesar-like, forgave their prostrate cause. 



XXXI. 

The other is our gentle poet's grave : 

The earliest morn bestows Apollo's smile ; 

It hears the silver ripple of the wave ; 

The sun, declining, lingers here awhile, — 



ALCAEUS. 47 

As if it would for him its farewell save, 

Whose sunshine purified all hearts from 
guile. 
He sleeps upon the graceful Indian hill, 
Where Hiawatha's spirit hovers still. 

XXXII. 

That day, so tenderly love laid him there, 
A smile of majesty o'erspread his face ; 
A solemn stillness filled the wintry air ; 

The heavens were hung in black, without a 

trace 
Of lustre ; earth and trees, like hearts, were 

bare ; 
And none save those who loved with tender- 

est care 
The early friend, the philosophic seer, 
And eloquence and song, stood round his 

bier. 



i 



48 ALCAEUS. 

XXXIII. 
The heavy sleep that holds him is but death ; 

He will awaken in another sphere. 
No power can chain the spirit, or the breath 
Which filled the air with songs we still can 
hear; 
The music of his lyre will outlive death, 
Outlive the choking heart and quivering 
tear; 
The chords of melody his raptures thrill, 
Will tremble with delicious music still. 



HELOISE. 

Here comes my love, my Heloise, 

Fond, faithful, fair-haired Heloise, 
Just as Diana peers above 

Yon shadowy veil of trees. 

Along the garden path she comes, 

With simple grace and pensive mien ; 
And while she walks, a song she sings, — > 
A vesper hymn, I ween. 

Such songs are breathed by cloistered nuns, ■ 

Whose life a holy vision seems, — 
As Nature shuts the eye of day, 

And soothes to heavenly dreams. 
4 



50 HELOISE. 

It falls upon the listening sense, 
As music of some unseen lyre 
Upon the dying ear that waits 
To hear the spirit choir. 

All worldly fancies flee away ; 

There stands before my wondering eye 
The phantom form of her who heard 
My first imploring cry. 

Celestial peace illumes her face ; 

Her saintly eyes are opened wide, 
And smile with sweet benignity 
On my affianced bride. 



SLEEP. 

O Sleep, sweet Sleep I Unlike thy brother, 
Death, 
Thou foldest us within thine arms for hours, 
To freshen us with evening's balmy breath, 

To drive away all care-compelling powers, 
And give sweet resurrection after death ; 
Our hearts revive, like withered fields with 
showers. 
When Death and Sleep lay in the arms of 

Night, 
She smothered one, the other gave to Light. 



PLUTO. 

His face was black as Erebus ; 

His eyes with wonder rolled, — 
As when the youthful Oedipus 

The Sphinx's riddle told. 
He was our faithful table -boy ; 

And Pluto was the name 
We gave our handsome sable boy 

Upon the day he came. 

Although his skin was black as night, 
His face was bright as day j 

His heart was alabaster- white ; 
His was no common clay. 



PLUTO. 53 

And when the lingering fever took 

Our household pet away, 
The children, whom he ne'er forsook, 

Gave up their wonted play, — 
Inscribed his virtues in a book, 

His tablet with a lay. 



A LAMENT. 

Life's feverish toil is over, and he sleeps ; 
Those weary days and wasting nights are 
o'er; 
The Nation bows her stricken head and 
weeps, — 
But mind and nature could endure no 
more. 
Around his grave shall mourning thousands 
stand, 
As long as men love manhood and true 
worth. 
His name 's a household word throughout the 
land, 
That honors high endeavor more than 
birth. 






A LAMENT. 55 

While Learning mourns a lover, who ne'er 
knew 
A holier fount than her Pierian Spring, — 
Philanthropy, a suitor ever true, 

Who brought the richest gifts that he could 
bring • 
While Statesmanship stands mute, with head 
bowed down; 
And Friendship, with Religion hand in 
hand ; 
And Eloquence bestows her golden crown, — 
The poor, the weak, the lowly of the 
land 
Stand round his bier in sorrow, to pro- 
claim 
How much of worth 's enshrined in one 

proud name, 
While queens and emperors join the wide 
acclaim. 



56 A LAMENT. 

When anxious sleepers heard the midnight 
bell 
The sad news toll, they shuddering held 
their breath, 
And sadly listened to the funeral knell 

Which told another had met Lincoln's death. 
The young recalled the story of his life, 
And courage took from his sublime en- 
deavor ; 
Brave women wept, remembering his poor 
wife 
And orphaned lads, — the Nation's wards 
forever ; 
The patriot trembled lest an equal fate 

Might slay another; praised the patient 
heart 
That, while less worthy men rose in the 
state, 
His time abided, and bore well his part. 






A LAMENT. 57 

His brilliant life repeats the old, old story, — 
There is no royal road which leads to 

glory. 
Through Fame's grand corridors and phan- 
tom halls, 
Her fretted vaults, and wide, resplendent 

walls, 
On steep Parnassus' heights together wander 
The minstrel Homer and Prince Alexander, 
Patrician Caesar and love-lost Leander. 

The mother mourns her last-born; and the 
wife — 
Who loved the schoolboy with his ruddy 
face, 
And shared his fortune through the bitter 
strife 
Which raised him from a cabin to the 
place 



58 A LAMENT. 

Grand Webster strove for and brave Calhoun 
lost — 
Must drag out life in loneliness and grief, 
Recalling all the pain this glory cost, — 
With slight remembrance that can give 
relief, 
Except her martyred husband's love and name. 
Since God pronounced the primal curse of 
toil, 
Though wise men often ask, "What, what 
is fame?" 
Philosophers have burnt the midnight oil, 
And poets wandered through wild Fancy's 
realm, 
And Justice pleaded for some wretched 
life, — 
In storm the patriot held his country's helm, 
While some grand Hampden braved war's 
fiercest strife. 



A LAMENT. 59 

But what the learned, prophetic seer thought 

true, 
This lonely widow's heart re-echoes too, — 
Shadows we are, and shadows we pursue. 



REBECCA. 

The flickering embers faintly threw 

A weird and melancholy light 
Across a face of ghostly hue, — 

A deeply sad, pathetic sight. 
The faltering light sketched on the wall 

Fantastic shapes in light and shade, 
And made a strange, sad witchery fall 

O'er every stain old Time had made. 

A woman sat before the grate, 
Whose homely garb the story told 

Of struggles with the bitter fate, 

Which, ere her time, had made her old. 



REBECCA. 6 1 

Deep melancholy cast its rays 

Through her dimmed eyes, whose dreamy 
sight 
Was backward turned upon the days 

When her young life was crowned with light. 

Beside her sat her only child, 

Whose gentle soul of sympathy 
Shone through her face, so sweet and mild, 

As if of seraph's company. 
The merry laugh of childish glee, 

Which home makes seem like Paradise, 
Ah ! long ago had ceased to be 

The magic which all hearts entice. 

Although the lonely widow's lot 

Was full of thorns since Arthur died ; 

Though earlier friends had her forgot, 
And seldom to her cottage hied ; 



62 REBECCA. 

Yet stitch by stitch she tried to earn 

The bread they ate, the clothes they 
wore, 

And patiently life's lesson learn, 

Howe'er the task her heart made sore. 

A little pittance she had laid 

Aside ; which, like the widow's cruse, 
Of want made her feel less afraid, — 

With hunger kept a short-lived truce. 
And every night, before she knelt 

In gratitude for life and health, 
Within the cupboard always felt 

To find secure her precious wealth. 

A dim, mysterious atmosphere, 

Midst which their forms are faintly seen, 
Enshrouds them both while sitting here, — 

More sombre for the firelight's sheen. 



REBECCA. 6$ 

In revery the dreamer sees 

Her Arthur on his bed of pain, — 

Enduring nature's stern decrees 
Till Death unties the tangled skein. 

And gazing on her daughter's face, 

Her pale-blue eyes and thoughtful brow, 
She can the father's image trace, 

As if his spirit dwelt there now, — 
Whose heart was full of charity 

As woman's heart is full of love, 
Whose murmur was a rarity 

Against the fate decreed above. 

And folding in her fond embrace 
What fancy made his spirit-form, 

A prayer she breathes for heavenly grace, 
To keep his memory always warm, — 



64 REBECCA. 

To keep his face before her eyes, 

His generous, true nobility, 
Till she, too, dwells in sunnier skies, 

With him through all eternity. 

She scarce had lisped this fervent prayer, — 

The echo of her marriage vow, — 
Which rose like incense on the air 

From love's high altar, burning now, — 
When at the door a knock was heard, 

A gentle, timorous, trembling rap, 
As if in storm some lost sea-bird 

Against some lighthouse lamp should tap. 

When Bertha oped the creaking door, 
A pale and shivering child stood there ; 

The scanty raiment which she wore 
Scarce kept her from the freezing air. 



REBECCA. 65 

With trembling voice she sought for bread ; 

When Bertha smiled, and asked her in, 
She walked with bashful, wavering tread, 

And looked so wretched, frail and thin. 

When she was bade her tale to tell : 

"We are six children, ma'am," she said; 
" Our mother is not very well, 

The doctor says, must keep in bed ; 
Our father 's to the madhouse sent, 

And mother, she has lost all heart ; 
Last night the landlord came for rent, 

And told us we must pay or start." 

The widow listened to the tale, 

So like her own she could have cried : 

" Unless I hear this dear child's wail, 
What can she hope from hearts of pride ? 
5 



66 REBECCA. 

Were Arthur here he 'd give his all, — 
The doorway to his heart was wide \ 

The God who notes the sparrow's fall 
In some way will for me provide." 

She straightway to the cupboard went, 

And counted o'er her Widow's Mite, 
And half unto the mother sent, 

Relieving her distressing plight ; 
And Bertha sent to carry it, 

With bread from her poor scanty store j 
A dress, — she feared it would not fit, — 

And wished she only could send more. 

In dreams that night a saintly face, 
Returning from the realms of bliss, 

Is seen in his accustomed place, — 
Upon her lips imprints a kiss. 



REBECCA. 67 

While angels round her vigils keep ; 

Her slumbers are serenely light, — 
As light as when Day falls asleep 

Upon the bosom of the Night. 



LOVE OF HOME. 

A Man without affection 

For country or for home, 
Who follows the direction 

In which his fancies roam ; 
When in the vale of Cashmere, 

When under Moscow's dome, 
Ascending Himalaya, 

Or loitering in Rome, 
Ne'er feels a twinge of sadness, 

Has ne'er a thought of home ; 
While floating down the Danube, 

Or cresting Baltic's foam, 



LOVE OF HOME. 69 

Is never thrilled with gladness, 
Akin almost to madness, 

Whene'er our flag is seen, 
From some high masthead flying 

Like stripes of silver sheen, 
With other navies vying, 

To be what once was seen ; 
A man without a nation, 

Like Ishmael of old, 
With no place in creation 

That on him has a hold, — 
To him there 's nothing sacred, 
He has no love or hatred, 
From nothing would he falter, 

There 's nothing that he fears ; 
He would despoil an altar, 

A vestal rob in tears. 



A SULTRY DAY IN SPRING. 

The sky assumes a liquid hue, 
The murky clouds float lazily ; 

The ocean of ethereal blue 
Swells heavily and hazily. 

The atmosphere is silver-gray, 
The vaporous air moves drearily ; 

The traveller shuns the god of day, 
His footsteps dragging wearily. 

The feeblest breath of early spring 
The nut-brown field fans moodily ; 

Although the woods with songsters ring, 
The lazy brook flows gloomily. 



A SULTRY DAY IN SPRING. 71 

The dull Earth lies in Phoebus' arms, 

So languidly and lifelessly, 
'T would seem she had forgot his charms, 

Neglecting him so wifelessly. 



OF A SQUIRREL. 



Shy and sprightly squirrel, — 
Spying round the corners, 
Peering through the grass ; 
Running up the tree-trunks, 
Skirting lowliest branches, 
Scaling highest limbs ; 
Sitting 'midst the foliage, 
Reverent, like a parson 
Breaking holy bread ; 
Prying and retreating, 
Curious and timid, 
Frightened at a sound, — 
Nothing in creation 
Coyer or more graceful 
Anywhere is found. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

True poet of the heart and home, 

Of strappan lads and bonnie lassies ! 

How much of joy where'er we roam, 

Of love and loveliness, 

Of hope and happiness, 

Thy simple, sensuous lays bid us confess ! 

To know the varying mind of man, 

And woman's heart so fond and true ; 
With rustic health green fields to span ; 
To watch the daisy grow, 
And see the farmer sow, 
Is all your simple song requires to know. 



74 ROBERT BURNS. 

No fate can chain the mind to earth, 

Detain the phantoms of the air, 
Constrain a dream from having birth. 
The fancies of the brain, 
Which naught can e'er restrain, 
Have given you fame, in spite of cold disdain. 



AN APRIL DAY. 

The earth receives Apollo's kiss 
Upon her bosom fondly prest, 

Awaking her from sleep to bliss, 
Regretting she so long should rest. 

It is the springtime, when the dove 
Caresses lovingly his mate ; 

'T is then the maiden's eye of love 
Sees visions of a holier state. 



AN EASTER HYMN. 

Hail to the morn, 
The glorious Easter morn, 
Its earliest blush of dawn ! 
Hail, Resurrection's day, 
The sacred, blessed day, 
Its first celestial ray, 
On which our Saviour rose, 
Cast off his mortal clothes, 
His cerements of clay ! 

Rose, as a snow-white dove 
Floats on the wings of love, 
Away, away, above, 



AN EASTER HYMN. 77 

Away from the haunts of men, 
Away from the eyesight's ken, 
Away from the mouldering earth, 
Redeemed through his birth ; 
Now seeming like a cloud, 
Or like an angel's shroud, 
As rising through the air, 
No eye can e'er tell where ; 
Or like a gleam of light 
Just fading out of sight, 
Amid the boundless blue 
Of pale, ethereal hue, 
No eyesight can pierce through ; 

Floating on atmosphere, 
Sidereal atmosphere, 
Outside our hemisphere, 
Through which the planets sweep 
Along the ethereal deep. 



78 AN EASTER HYMN. 

Now shut from mortal sight 
The faintest gleam of light, 
All earth becomes like night ; 

Except that her people believe 
The Christ — who could always relieve 
Their sufferings while on the earth, 
Because of his heavenly birth — 
Now dwells in infinite space, 
Still watching the human race, 
And making their wishes known 
Before the Eternal Throne. 






WOLSTONECRAFT. 

i. 

The agony of love that made thy life 
Romance, a glory threw around thy fame, — 
Made thee the envy of men of prouder name, 
The scorn of every fond and wedded wife. 

[These lines were suggested by the story of Mary 
Wolstonecraft, an Englishwoman well known in liter- 
ary circles towards the close of the last century, who 
went to Paris at the opening of the French Revolu- 
tion for the purpose of writing its history, where she 
met one Imlay, who had been an officer, from Ken- 
tucky, in the army of the American Revolution, with 
whom she fell in love. Upon his desertion of her, 
after an intimacy of about two years, she threw her- 
self, in a frenzy of agony, into the Thames, but was 
rescued from drowning by some boatmen who hap- 
pened to be near. Shortly afterwards she married 
William Godwin, a philosophical writer, the friend 
of Coleridge, and the author of " Caleb Williams." 
She died at the birth of Mary Wolstonecraft Godwin, 
who became the wife of the poet Shelley.] 



80 WOLSTONECRAFT. 

The soul that lighted up thy lovely face, 
The genius that inspired thy heart and pen 
A century ago, and more, taught men 
Injustice had been done thy gentle race ; 
Told them, in words of plaintive sympathy, 
That woman was not born to be a slave, 
Or drag out life in listless apathy, 
But born the fiercest storms of life to brave, — 
To bask in smiling sunshine, when she can, 
But be the equal and the friend of man. 

ii. 
Thy earlier joys were simple as a child ; 
No ripple to disturb their peaceful flow, 
Till tempests fierce began in France to blow 
Of civil strife, so terrible and wild 
That startled Europe trembled with affright, 
And Paris was a maelstrom, in whose maw 
Were swallowed up Truth, Honor, Virtue, Law, 



WOLS TONE CRAFT. 8 1 

And every grace that fascinates the sight. 
And as the moth, when drawn towards the 

light, 
Flies round the blaze until its wings are burnt, 
When burst this conflagration on the sight, 
The path of its alluring rays you learnt, — 
Your fervent soul on fire to see destroyed 
Those hated palaces with pleasure cloyed. 

ni. 
While Freedom struggles in the mighty coils 
That Tyranny had wound from age to age, 
Like some huge Sampson, maddened into rage, 
Asunder bursting Feudalism's toils ; 
While streets and cities run with princely 

blood, 
And peasants reign o'er Royalty supreme ; 
While Madness riots, Anarchy is queen, 
Old rights are swept away in one wild flood ; 

6 



82 WOLSTONECRAFT. 

While all her nobles tremble at the sight, 
And fly like frightened Egypt from the scourge 
That nine times smote the land for Israel's 

right ; 
You dream all thrones are tottering on the 

verge, 
And sing fair Freedom's song in such a strain 
All Europe listens to the wild refrain. 



Thus far your life was like a summer sea 
Across whose breast no waves of passion 

sweep, — 
As peaceful as a village-green, where sleep 
Has hushed the laugh and shout of childish 

glee. 
The simple, quiet joys which books bestow, 
The calm delight which contemplation 

breathes, 



WOLSTONECRAFT. S3 

The roseate fancies meditation wreathes, 
Were all the loves your youth had learned to 

know; 
Across your path the shadow of no sin 
Had ever cast its grim and horrid shape ; 
No swain had ever sought your heart to win, 
From out your rosy bed a bud to take, — 
To touch the chords of heavenly rhapsodies, 
Which, struck awry, scream out hell's 
monodies. 

v. 
O Love, O holy Love ! thy mystery 
No pious incantation can explain ; 
No necromance thy sacred secret gain, 
Or ravel out thy thread of history. 
When Clotho, at our birth, has spun the 

thread 
Which, in the vista of futurity, 



84 WOLSTONECRAFT. 

In childhood, youth, or in maturity, 
Through all the mazy labyrinths we tread, 
In all the myriad paths of mystic fate, 
Our winding steps direct towards the place 
Where waits expectant our predestined mate, 
Seraphic glory shining through her face ; 
Love crowns the hour; Love makes the 

bright sunrise 
Of all our hopes seem now a glad surprise. 

VI. 

'T was ever thus, and thus 't will ever be j 
'T was so with you, fair Mary, when you met 
The fate by which your psalm of life was set, 
In sunny France, beside the siren sea. 
Love sang then in your ears such melodies 
As thrilled, long since, fair Eloisa's ear, 
When Abelard, in words we still can hear, 
His strong love told in pious rhapsodies : 



WOLS TONE CRAFT. §5 

The joy, the ecstasy that fills the soul 
Which ne'er has known the brimming wealth 

of love ! — 
As sunlit showers fill the barren knoll 
In springtime, ere distilling from above 
Some holy essence, whose mysterious powers 
Make Nature's dull face radiant with flowers. 

VII. 

And what a wealth of love thou gavest him ! 
Hadst thou been ten times woman, nothing 

more 
Could be bestowed ; the jewels which you wore, 
To gratify his fancy, or some whim, 
You threw, without regret, before his feet ; 
Your boundless trust you gave him willingly ; 
Your wondrous beauty you gave eagerly ; 
Your peerless mind, which God had made the 

seat 



86 WOLSTONECRAFT. 

Where Admiration knelt as at a shrine, 

You gave him as a solace in his leisure ; 

Your every charm you gave like generous 
wine, 

Through cruel fear of meeting his dis- 
pleasure ; 

Peace, health, your very honor, you gave up 

To fill anew his ever empty cup. 

vin. 
Oh, would the tongue of man had power to tell 
The dreadful tale of base ingratitude ! 
The cruel wrong, which in its plenitude 
No heart but tender woman's knows full well. 
Perhaps above, before the Great White Throne 
Where God makes every one his secrets own, 
The simple grandeur and the princely worth 
Of some poor, trembling heart, who, while on 
earth, 



WOLSTONECRAFT. 87 

Bore up her staggering load of scorn alone, — 
Yes, drew it close, and closer hugged it still, 
Because love's tendrils round two forms had 

grown, — 
As Magdalen, perhaps, awaits God's will, 
Before the wondering gaze of Christendom 
She may receive a crown of martyrdom. 

rx. 

How patiently you bore his cold neglect, 
Which, like a mildew, kills by slow decline 
The flower that blooms where bright suns only 

shine ! 
At first, without repining or regret, 
You bore an absence which but seemed to 

toy 
In gentle dalliance, not inconstant love ; 
As oft the amorous, coquetting dove 
Flies off, that his caresses may not cloy. 



88 WOLSTONECRAFT. 

Even when you chided his too long delay, 
'T was by reminders of the happy hours, 
Whose loss no recompense could e'er repay, 
Together spent in fond Elysian bowers, — 
Content whene'er you might Love's nectar sip, 
As Psyche did from Cupid's honeyed lip. 

x. 

Come back, my love ! come home ! and drown 

your cares 
In that intoxicating cup that 's ever 
E'en brimming full, though you have drunk 

till never 
Another drop of bliss, if unawares, 
Could your deep well of happiness contain ! 
Oh, do not say that "Commerce keeps you 

still;" 
That you " cannot obey your own sweet will ; " 
That " if you could, you never would refrain." 



WOLSTONECRAFT. 89 

I hate the name of Commerce ; hate the ring 
Of gold, because it keeps yourself from me. 
Remember, Gilbert dear, there is a thing 
That money cannot buy ; and oh, pray see 
These jewels, who would hang about your 

neck 
As amulets which did King Minos deck. 

XI. 

This morn I found your pillow wet with tears, 
And last night had a dream which made me 

wild, 
Lest danger should befall our lovely child, — 
Whose prattle her dear father never hears, 
Who loses all her pretty, winsome ways : 
One summer evening, as the God of Day 
Disported playfully upon the bay 
At Havre, while we sat watching his bright 

rays, 



90 W0LST0NECRAFT. 

Like fairy fancies, dancing 'long the shore, 
Our darling Frances, playing on the quay 
Too near the edge, fell off into the sea. 
As quick as thought you sprang to rescue her ; 
I saw you rise, grasping our darling's gown, 
When, lo ! a woman's hand you both dragged 
down. 

XII. 

How oft you 've told of your broad fields and 

home, 
Along the banks where Mississippi rolled 
Its waste of waters to the sea ; have told 
Of everglades, through which in grandeur 

roam 
The red men, with their trusty spears and 

bows ; 
Of prairie lands, so fertile and so broad 
As could support all Araby'swild horde ; 









WOLS TONECRAFT. 9 1 

Primeval forests, where the pine-tree grows 
So large that three men scarce could round it 

span; 
Of how your people fought, their homes to 

free, — 
No braver heroes in their army's van 
Than men who held the plough and felled 

the tree. 
'T was here, you said, you 'd find some calm 

retreat, 
Where Nature's smile our poet-eyes should 

greet. 

XIII. 

My own love will not think me foolish? 

no ! — 
Because I long to look upon his face, 
And there his sympathetic feelings trace, 
And see his mantling, quick affection grow ; 



92 WOLSTONECRAFT. 

To gaze within his deep, brown-hazel eyes ; 
See Cupid's wing paint on his cheek love's 

blush, 
Until the glow of love his whole face flush j 
To hear him say how fondly he doth prize — 
And tell it o'er again whene'er I woo — 
The heart that beats in time with his true 

heart, 
Its throbs his name repeating, then mine too ; 
To hear him vow we ne'er again shall part j 
To lean upon his strong and gentle arm, 
Which should keep me forevermore from 

harm. 

xrv. 
The winter snows have come since your dear 

eyes, 
Like suns, have shed both light and joy 

around ; 



WOLS TONE CRAFT. 93 

Where all was dry and dead made life abound, 
And out of midnight made the moon arise, 
To shower down her mellow light of peace. 
I fear my merry England has some charm, 
Some talisman which, while it would not harm 
Her favorite child, yet slowly would release 
Love's magic medicine unto the maid 
Whose weary nights now never know sweet 

sleep ; 
Whose sickness scorns to yield to other aid. 
My Mother Isle, if thou must longer keep 
My love a prisoner in durance vile, 
Release him now for just a little while. 

xv. 
I am an exile from thy fireside ; 
Your pious heart would never quite forgive, 
In peace among your children let me live, 
Till I, who loved too well, become a bride. 



94 WOLSTONECRAFT. 

Dear Mother, I would kneel before your feet, 
Expose my broken, bleeding, shuddering soul, 
Around which now wild seas of trouble roll, 
For one bright smile — the smile I used to meet 
When, free as air, light-hearted as the roe, 
Beloved alike in cottage and in hall, 
Where senates thunder and where pleasures 

flow, 
I showered the dew of mercy over all ; 
Yet still would not the bliss of love regret 
For all the adoration Vesta met. 

XVI. 

I know the weight of woe which drags me 

down ; 
I know I 'm broken-hearted, weak, undone ; 
I know the very children from me run ; 
That gray-haired, heartless rakes presume to 

frown. 



WOLSTONECRAFT. 95 

Yes, now I know that he who caused it all 
Abandons me because I was not wise, 
And from his side would spurn a richer prize 
Than made Achilles sulk, or Troy made fall. 
The vale of tears hereafter is my home ; 
The Scarlet Letter must I always wear, — 
Bear up, alas ! my cruel cross alone, 
While Pharisees look on and villains stare. 
In England they would place me in the stocks, 
At which the pious fraud or ribald jester mocks. 

XVII. 

This bitter strife I cannot long endure. 
When Tarquin robbed Lucretia of her crown, 
Life's sceptre, too, she instantly threw down ; 
The seal of mystery will death secure. 
Thou murky Thames, — thy cold and leaden 

wave, 
How many a broken heart has sought, to save 



96 WOLSTONECRAFT. 

Long years of misery ; has dared to brave 
The dark oblivion of a nameless grave ! 
When thy Lethean billows choke my breath, 
And draw the dusky veil across my eyes ; 
When hope's delusive dreams dissolve in death, 
My spirit-form on airy pinions rise, — 
Let no one blame my frenzied brain because 
Its tension broke, obeying Nature's laws. 

xvin. 
Though I must drain the hemlock to the lees, 
But lose the pearl for which I give my life, — 
The priceless guerdon, to be called his w T ife ; 
My soul must with Siberian winter freeze, — 
May palsy strike me dumb ere one harsh 

thought 
Escape these lips, that trembled to the kiss 
Of him who wandered from excess of bliss ! 
May his dear life not be with dangers fraught ! 






WOLSTONECRAFT. 97 

My Father, I would ask — if not impiety, 
Would pray, dear Lord — that those engulfing 

seas, 
In revery seen, be not reality ; 
That thou wouldst temper so the Atlantic 

breeze 
That yonder raft, yon toilers of the sea, 
May reach some shore, may be from danger 

free. 

XIX. 

Brave Mary Wolstonecraft, thy name survives 
The ruin Time has wrought of prouder fame. 
Their airy castles in the distance wane, 
Whose phantom battlements were, in their 

lives, 
Escutcheoned o'er with famous victories 
They won of eloquence, with tongue or pen, 
In listening senates, or where Justice' ken 
7 



98 WOLS TONE CRAFT. 

Uplifts her awful form of centuries. 

Their voice of thunder does not so resound 

Among Time's templed naves, where Honor 

dwells, 
As those sweet crystal notes of music found 
Imprisoned in your heart's mysterious cells. 
Affection is the chord which, touched aright, 
Life 's monody 's a rapture of delight. 

xx. 

If later joys could e'en in part atone 
For miseries which make a woman's life 
A whirlpool, in whose gulf an unwed wife 
Sees argosies of love o'erwhelmed, — the 

throne, 
From infancy she dreamt of reigning on, 
A hideous ruin scattered at her feet : 
Perhaps the few short months, serenely 

sweet, — 



WOLSTONECRAFT. 99 

O'er which philosophy's calm moonlight shone, 
Through which your shallop floated on life's 

sea, 
Borne on by gentle, whispering, loving airs, 
A nautilus upon its bosom free, — 
May be some recompense for earlier cares : 
Oh would you knew, when giving life for life, 
Your child, surviving, should be Shelley's wife. 



THE ANVIL AND THE BROOK. 

Since half a century ago, 

Not very many miles away 
From where the slow Neponset's flow 

Is lost to sight in Shawmut Bay, 
There lives a village where the ring 

Of hammers strikes upon the ear, 
Shrill anvils their loud chorus sing, 

And Labor's merry chant you hear. 

CHORUS. 

A-ding-er-ding, a-dmg-er-dmg, — 
And so the merry anvils sing ; 
A-ding-er-dong, a-ding-er-dong, — 
And so the anvils sing along. 



THE ANVIL AND THE BROOK, ioi 

And as their merry cadence rings, 
In harmony the blacksmith sings, — 
A-ding-er-dong, a-ding-er-dong, 
Come, join our anvils' chorus-song. 

If Vulcan with his single will 

Could shape the thunderbolts of Jove, 
Pandora fashion by his skill, 

With Aetna for his treasure-trove, — 
The Vulcans of our modern age 

Have spanned an unknown continent, 
Have chained the Rocky Mountains' rage 

By labors much more permanent. 

The Brook that skips adown the hill, 
And laughing sings along the dell, 

Now trips to louder music still, 
And loves to sing its song as well ; 



102 THE ANVIL AND THE BROOK. 

Obeisance to its master makes, 

As bows each great trip-hammer beam ; 
Is glad, with every bend it makes, 

It is not now an idle stream. 

It sees the cottage 'long the shore 

Reflected on its polished breast, 
And thanks the master-skill once more 

Which would not let it longer rest ; 
Him thanks for happiness bestowed 

On others through his kindly aid ; 
Regrets the time it idly flowed, — 

The time it idly laughed and played. 



NIL DESPERANDUM. 

The rain fell over the ocean, 

The boundless and fathomless main, — 
Now rolling in billows, all motion, 

Now smooth as a mirror again. 

One drop a sea-mollusk drank down, 

And crystallized into a pearl, — 
For an empress to wear in a diademed 
crown, 

The gem of the dazzling whirl. 

'T is little acts fill up a lifetime, 
And drops swell the ocean of Time ; 

The love that is silvered with frost-rime 
Began as a seed, like a thyme. 



A VALENTINE. 

Oh, Eleanor, how cold thou art ! 

Thou canst not have a loving heart, 

Or thou wouldst speak some gentle word, 

Wouldst bend thine eyes, sweet peace afford 

To Corydon, who daily cries, 

" Come, teach me how to win the prize." 

Spurn not the heart whose gravest sin 

Is ignorance of arts that win, 

Whose tell-tale eyes and blushing looks 

Have spoken plainer words than books. 

Such love may ne'er again return ; 

Disdained, the flame may scorn to burn. 

Thy life is drear, and sad thy lot, — 

Pardon the words, and blame me not. 






A VALENTINE. 105 

In hours of loneliness and grief, 
When books no longer bring relief, 
No sister's arms around thee twine, 
No brother's eyes with pleasure shine, 
No mother's holy kiss can seal 
The wealth of passion kindred feel. 
Alas ! alone on this great sphere, 
In hours happy, hours drear, 
To bear life's chance as best you can ; 
The same 's my lot, but I 'm a man. 
'T is not thy beauty I adore, 
And not thy hidden wealth of lore. 
The grace and vigor of thy mind, 
Thy noble heart, so proud and kind, 
Thy character, so sweet and bold, 
A heart have fired that erst was cold. 



WEDDING BELLS. 

Lightly and merrily, 
Blithely and cheerily, 
Rang out the marriage bells 
On that still, moonlit eve 

When Annie was wed. 
Softly and peacefully, 
Calmly and cheerfully, 
Down sank the sun at night, 
Shedding its gems of light, 
Showering its blessings bright 

Upon her fair head. 



TRAFALGAR. 

How gallantly Nelson has scoured the sea ! 
How grandly Old England has fought to be 

free 
From the terrible scourge which o'erhung like 

a cloud, 
And threatened her homes with grim war to 

enshroud. 

How month after month, from Indies to Spain, 
Gibraltar to Islam, and back, back again, 
The King of the Ocean, whom nothing can 

daunt, 
Has followed the Frenchman, repelling his 

taunt. 



108 TRAFALGAR. 

At last he has found him; at last he has 

caught 
The fleets for two years so determinedly 

sought ; 
And he who loves glory, as saints do the Cross, 
Has counted already his enemy's loss. 

The sun of October is painting the seas ; 
From Cadiz is blowing a bountiful breeze ; 
When the sailors descry from the top of the 

mast 
The Spaniards and Frenchmen are coming at 

last. 

In ships they outnumber the stanch English 

fleet; 
Their courage will never, no, never retreat, — 
For the ear of Napoleon, the Genius of Fate, 
Will hear and reward every act that is great. 



TRAFALGAR. 1 09 

Yes; he who controlleth the fortunes of 

war, 
Puts kings upon thrones, to Europe gives 

law, 
From the shores of the Channel is waiting to 

hear 
When the Gallic Armada for Britain can 

steer. 

A leader, as brave as ambitious and grand, — 
And ruler of waves as is he of the land, — 
Is commander at Cadiz, and willing to die 
For a tomb in the Abbey, a name in the 
sky. 

At the sound of the gun, under Collingwood's 

lead, 
The fleets, at full sail, bear down at full 

speed ; 



no TRAFALGAR. 

As cavalry charge with the rage of the 

blast, 
Their ranks keeping first, but a whirlwind at 

last. 



Oh, how the shot rattles, and how the guns 

roar ! 
Oh, how the bay echoes, and how the clouds 

soar ! 
From the keel to the masthead, from bowsprit 

to stern, 
Every ship 's a volcano. See, — some of 

them burn ! 

Oh, how the men struggle, and how the men 

groan ! 
Oh, how the ships tremble, and how the 

shrouds moan ! 



TRAFALGAR. Ill 

From the Cape to the Pillars, the shore to the 

light, 
Ships shattered, dismantled, form a harrowing 

sight. 

The dead and the dying, that cover the 

decks ; 
The sobs and the sighing, that weigh down 

the wrecks ; 
The screams and the shouts, and the wails of 

despair ; 
Hurrahs and huzzas ; how they startle the air ! 

The tragical scene, when the pale moon arose, 
And the silence of death told the battle's sad 

close ! 
Though broken sometimes by the boom of a 

gun, 
As another proud captive her colors has run. 



112 TRAFALGAR. 

What glory great England has won here to- 
day, 

Where the tide of proud conquest was bidden 
to stay. 

Ah, the grief and despair on each face that 
is read, 

As the news spreads abroad that brave Nelson 
is dead ! 



In scarlet arrayed, all his medals displayed, 
Like him of Pharsalia, at nothing dismayed ; 
The duty his banner bade others to do, 
Our hero did faithfully, grandly pursue. 

Oh, would that the tongue of affection could 

tell 
How dearly he loved thee, fair England ! how 

well 



TRAFALGAR. 113 

Repaid were his deeds, by the nation's ac- 
claim ! 

How surely he won what he sought — a proud 
fame ! 

Oh, mournfully, tenderly, guard thou, O Sea, 
These heroes till Doomsday entrusted to 

thee. 
Some sepulchred cavern select for their 

tomb; 
Chant dirges sublime till the thunders of 

doom. 





I 



ttPJ L W 









V?&VVa/SM 



VA^^i^w^ 



A***** 



^AAAAAf 






w 






ftlSi^W-vW^ 



WfwtiiHHtiitfft 






tMff+to*h, 



w y m n v || (p« 

^^Sfe^O^ ...... 



A*/^A*' 



aaa^^*/ 



N^^AA^AA** A ^ / V 



VWaa^AA^Aaa/ 



1aaAm™W«~ }> -.- ~- - // flf L ■■; *Wm . 



S&tiNfflt 



wto: 






^P^fat\Krsr\r<rs'K&" - 



<mmm 



hh%hhmN 



'AA/V^r^c 






\--Ja K A *i -^ A<*AA, A. 



KmaAKj^ 



WW^WM 









"'^HfiWbr 






^$6$^ 



A/VAjViA 



■ — - - . 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




012 073 457 A 




